


Sea-Stained Journal

by Iceyprincess



Category: Sunless Sea
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-11 21:11:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16860373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iceyprincess/pseuds/Iceyprincess
Summary: A collection of sunless sea snippets I wrote a while ago.





	Sea-Stained Journal

March 16, 18–

In the zee, the slightest miscalculation leads only to disaster. This is why, in what was supposed to be a normal trip out east, lead to us being stranded in a place without fuel or food, only the consuming darkness to keep us company.

There was little we could do. All options lead to death. So we did the only thing we could do. We fought, terrified, for our lives, against an enemy no blade nor bullet could sunder.

Terror. That’s all I saw on the crew's faces as we quickly ran out of options. Blood stained the deck. I brought out the only thing we had left. A little altar to Storm. This did not ease the crew’s fears. There’s only one thing that storm wants: blood. And blood we gave it.

We took the most disloyal, the most mad and the most terrified. Six members of my crew bled every last drop upon that alter. And as we gutted the seventh, we were met with our reward.

Something from the ceiling, plummeting. The stone spike drove into our hull and speared another crewmember. The ship shook with all the ferocity of an oncoming storm. It was hard to tell who was screaming in the dark. Perhaps it was all of us. Perhaps it was no-one.

And as the dust settled, we saw it. Covering every inch of that stone spike was our reward for the bloodshed. The gift to save us.

Coal. Lots of blood-stained coal.

We sailed to the next port in silence.

June 23, 18–

The faces underneath the zee near polythreme are disturbing enough. More disturbing is when you noticed that what you might have thought were slight movements in the water were actually said faces moving.

More disturbing still is when you dive down to greet them, and you hear them screaming.

April 8th, 18–

We went to the avid horizon. Just for a visit. We stopped by the chapel of lights. We ate, and we gave, and I learned. Leaving now, I can’t help but wonder if the zee is darker, somehow. Does the prowl light shine a little less? Does the darkness refuse to part just that little bit more? It’s probably my imagination. 

We’re down a few crew, but we still have plenty more. Our rations are low, but we have plenty of food. 

November 20th, 18–

No one questions the captain.

That’s the silent agreement, amongst the crew. The only, and most important, unwritten rule. It’s not a rule borne from respect, or faith. But rather, it’s borne from necessity. Or perhaps fear. The oldest of the crew knows the danger of the zea. They know what happens when times get rough. They know what must be done.

Take, for instance, one of the newest members of the crew. A young one, likely no older than twenty. A cabin boy, an apt title even if the ‘boy’ part is questionable. They did their duty, sweeping up the deck, cleaning up blood and zea life, running errands for their superiors. 

When the rations got low, no one said a thing, besides for this young, would-be zailor. When the food on their plates got smaller and smaller, they complained. When the ship zailed into the dark, away from the lights of port, they questioned why. When the crew shunned them, when they glared from across the deck, when they ignored their questions, the young zailor did not learn better and follow the other’s lead. Instead, they stood their ground. They demanded answers. 

That night, they were gone. No one wondered where they went. That night, when they ate like kings, feasting on fat, juicy, red steaks, when they drank from a soup of bones and scraps, when they had their fill, no one wondered where the food came from.

An unspoken rule. One all of them learn, sooner or later. Never question the captain. 

May 4th, 18–

This evening, Frocks made me a new set of clothing. They are absolutely exquisite. Charming, colorful, fitting, alive. The cloth screamed too much at first, but I taught it discipline. Now I look beyond dashing at the helm of my ship. The clothing brings me warmth, caresses me, gives me confidence. They see things that I can not- they whisper little secrets the crew thought they could keep from me, when all is quiet. And when they get rowdy, when they think that I am the accessory- I singe a little bit of the sleeve. I make small cuts in the trim. I drown it in zea water. They learn, again. And soon enough they are back to perfection. Truly, this is a fitting uniform for me.

July 21st, 18–

We stopped by the Khannate this evening. The city was as uptight as ever, but Khan’s shadow was more hospitable. It’s odd, walking across the rickety boardwalks and strapped-together boats. I stopped for a snack in a stall built out of old cargo crates. They had some damn fine noodles.

On one of the nicer looking ships, a gentlemen talked at length about a machine he had. The Milebreaker, he called it. Said it would make fuel last longer. Always an interesting prospect. Fuel is expensive, and the longer it can go, the better. There was something strange about it, though. Deep within the shell of the thing, I swear I could hear this thumping, even though the machine was off.

The gentleman was very persuasive, though. And he got me some noodles. They were really good noodles.

All in all, I think it might be worth it for the price. The thing scares the hell out of the crew, though. That, according to the gentleman, is necessary. I can’t imagine why.

It’s only when I’m back out at zee again when I start to doubt my purchase. Even up in my quarters, I can hear the thing deep within the hull, between layers of steel. Rhythmic thumping. Like a…heartbeat. I realize where it’s coming from, now. A pipe, in the wall of my cabin. One that I’m fairly sure wasn’t there before. When I touch it, it’s hot to the touch. When I get close, I can hear the beating, every thump rattling the tube. These pipes must stretch through the entire ship. Like veins. But why? What purpose could they serve? I thought that thing was for the engine!

One of the crew just went missing. One of the pipes in the cargo hold burst, as well. Surely just a coincidence.


End file.
